


Aubade

by guileheroine



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6062290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guileheroine/pseuds/guileheroine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>n. a love song written in the morning</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The first and next and next time that Asami wakes up with Korra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aubade

 

 

 

 

 

> _just the_  
>  _shape of_  
>  _her head there_  
>  _(not forgetting_  
>  _centuries of the living_  
>  _and the dead and_  
>  _the dying,_  
>  _the pyramids,_  
>  _Mozart dead_  
>  _but his music still_  
>  _there in the_  
>  _room, weeds growing,_  
>  _the earth turning,_  
>  _the tote board waiting for_  
>  _me)_  
>  _I saw the shape of my_  
>  _wife's head,_  
>  _she so still,_  
>  _I ached for her life,_  
>  _just being there_  
>  _under the_  
>  _covers._
> 
> _\- Charles Bukowski, 'Let It Unfold You'_

 

**One**

 

The first time Asami awakes next to Korra, it’s a result of the sensation of falling - of almost falling from the corner of the mattress because her friend is sprawled across a good three quarters of the cabin cot; she can tell because her elbow is somewhere in Asami’s side. Like a hypnic jerk, but very, very real, and thank goodness. The early rush of adrenaline already doing the job of the instant airship coffee that has begun her daily routine for the past week.

 

When Asami starts, a moment’s disorientation sees itself to a moment’s irritation, _push that elbow away!_ But it only lasts a moment, because really, what did she expect? Two full grown women on this tiny bed. Her one at home was probably as large as this cabin. She should have made her bed on the floor, or asked Korra to, but then she hadn’t known that Korra would fall asleep here when her own room wasn’t much more than a metre along the hallway. Asami blinks into the dim headache of definitely not enough sleep. Had they stayed up so late? It hadn’t felt that way. Well. The energy has to go somewhere when you spend your day slumped around a meeting room table.

 

Her hand scrambles for Korra’s arm - she’s so warm? - and Asami lifts and moves so delicately the limb that she had seconds ago considered shoving away. Korra remains fast asleep; and somehow that is suddenly interesting, her first roommate, if you will, in so many months. Asami sits up, turns, and watches her for a second - the regular swell of her chest, flutter of a strand of hair against her mouth, draw of breath, so peaceful, the strange draw of that draw…

 

Ah. And then a second’s a minute, so she pushes her legs out of the covers and the image into her brain. (People just look _lovely_ in such moments of serenity, these intimate circumstances to which she rarely bears witness, and what a lovely friend she has.)

 

She fumbles for a set of clothes and her toiletries with only one one or two glances back to the bed, and rushes off to the bathroom.

 

**Two**

 

The second instance is so similar and so nice that she wishes two could make a pattern. Except this time, Korra knees her somewhere in the kidney region and it’s the impact that wakes them both.

 

She holds her breath for the second that she knows Korra is registering the action, and right on cue she hears, “ _Shit_ ,” hushed - a beat and then the most tentative “Asami?”; and that she isn’t prepared for: her name on a breath so cautious and quiet in Korra’s groggy voice.

 

“It’s alright,” she says, her own voice creaky from disuse, turning slowly to Korra and bracing her head against her palm. She watches Korra relax visibly and burrow back against her pillow, as if she’s ready to slip back into sleep. Asami folds her arm under head to prop it up further and smiles. “Actually beats having Tenzin knock on your door for a wake-up call.”

 

Korra tenses again, the stiffness of her body under the cover indicating a little more wakefulness than a moment before. “I woke you?! Sorry…” And she looks it, wide, stricken eyes and perfect pout.

 

Asami shakes the apology off, suddenly conscious of her own very sleep-soft, very makeup-less face. “You woke yourself, too.”

 

Korra looks her full in the face then, for the first time, smiling as she stretches. Asami draws the covers up over her own mouth, a little abashed at her own body’s unexpected lightness in the face of that smile.

 

“So, Ba Sing Se today,” Korra sighs and rubs her eyes. It’s the kind of thing she would say with gusto if she were a few more hours awake. “Can I ask you something?” She says suddenly, turning fully and mirroring Asami. Asami blinks to attention and she continues. “What do you think of that kid? Kai.”

 

“You’re wondering if we did right bringing him along? I have no idea,” Asami replies. Korra laughs a little, looking her way again with a rather sweetly appreciative eye. “I have no idea what a good kid makes.”

 

“Me neither,” says Korra. “Guess I’ll just have to trust my instincts.”

 

Asami shrugs, smoothing her hair into one fist and out from under her head, laying it away from herself where it won’t rumple any further. (She should really get into the habit of tying it up for bed.) “Mako’ll keep him in check. Or Jinora will.” She grins. “But kids love you, Korra. Trust your instincts for sure.”

 

“Somehow I don’t think that’s enough to make them behave okay. I mean, you can tell Kai’s a loose one.”

 

“I know,” says Asami. “I knew a few like him when I was that age.” Korra leans forward curiously, airbending a few strands of the pile of Asami’s hair between them as she does. Asami swallows her start at the action (it feels...well, it feels almost like being touched directly, when the hints of air skimming her skin are so deliberately driven by another person.) “But it was kind of the opposite situation. Orphans don’t have any _one_ tethering them, and rich kids don’t have any _thing_ stopping them, if they’re rich enough. There was this one boy who said he would teach me how to bend earth _and_ fire if I let him into the garage with the unreleased Future Industries motorbike models.”

 

“See, kids love you, too, Asami,” Korra ribs, and Asami clucks, rolling her eyes. “Did you let him in?”

 

Her silence and embarrassed frown says _yes,_  and Korra ‘aw’s with her mouth, smirk turning to a genuine smile. Asami interrupts before she can tease again. “Not because I wanted to bend! It was his charm, you know,” she says resignedly.

 

“I wonder what I’d’ve done,” Korra muses. The covers slide off her shapely shoulders when she lifts herself onto her elbows. “I only ever - well, I only ever hung out with other kids when I went home to stay with my parents.”

 

“I always wondered about that,” Asami tells her, meeting her eyes and suppressing the weird urge to pull the covers over her again. Korra stops her airbending mid-hair swirl and tilts her head. Asami explains, “Like you being so... isolated. I thought _I_ grew up kind of isolated, but I think some of that was just my personality!” She laughs. “I can’t imagine how it must have been for you.”

 

“Well, I just thought that was normal.” Korra resumes the absent bending, somewhat sober. “I was pretty young.”

 

“I know.” Asami says. “I read about you, about your training” - Korra perks up. “I didn’t really get why my dad didn’t seem that excited about hearing about the new Avatar,” she continues with a not quite rueful laugh, because not even that thought can ruin the ease of this moment, being here so relaxed in another's company when she was used to leaving bed as soon as she woke. “But I remember thinking it was so cool, and also being like, ‘is she going to be okay?’”

 

Korra begins laughing halfway through Asami’s sentence, but before she can reply, there’s a sharp knock on the door, and they both turn sharply in turn.

 

“Asami? Uh… guys? Asami, Tenzin wants to have a look over the itinerary with you before we land, to make sure we get on top of fuel and stuff when we get there…” It’s Bolin voice.

 

Asami gives Korra a guess-I-better-get-up sigh and calls out, “Thanks, Bo! Just a minute!” As she makes to sit herself up, her gaze stops on the ends of her hair still coiled in the air around Korra’s fingers. Their eyes meet over it.

 

“Sorry,” Korra says, withdrawing. “Your hair’s so pretty.”

 

Asami smiles. _So are you._ “No, it’s a mess in the morning.”

 

**Three**

 

She wakes on a couch the shape of a right angle, herself on the one leg, Korra on the adjacent, a tangle of blanket at the vertex where their feet (almost) meet. Korra is buried head to toe under a large green blanket.

 

Their bedrooms in Zaofu are separate, but last night they had talked long enough in this drawing room to fall asleep here. Asami glances around. Opal had seen herself to bed before she fell asleep, and Mako and Bolin must eventually have done the same. The couch opposite her where they had sat bears the signs of wear, goatrabbit-wool cushions ruffled, and the table between is littered with mugs, stemware and even a few _ochoko_ cups.

 

Almost experimentally, Asami presses her foot into Korra’s through the blanket tucked under them.

 

“I’m not asleep,” comes the immediate response. It takes a few moments for Korra to draw herself out of her cocoon and sit up. “The sunlight hurt my eyes,” she explains when she emerges, looking, frankly, adorable with her tousled hair.

 

“You’re not hungover, are you?” Asami teases sleepily.

 

“Never have been in my life,” is the self-satisfied answer she receives.

 

“I bet. You’re so healthy,” Asami says, which sounds kind of silly, but she hopes cover of sleepiness will deflect any question about that. She reaches behind her to fluff her cushion so that she can sit up better, and smooths her blanket over her front.

 

Korra carefully follows the path of Asami's hands as they fix her makeshift bedding, before her eyes resettle on her face. “You sleep okay?”

 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve slept in my office before, no different to this,” Asami assures, patting the couch. “You?”

 

“Fine,” says Korra, nudging Asami this time. The fleeting contact leaves Asami unexpectedly warm and she curls her foot under its cover. “Tea?” Korra continues brightly, springing off the couch with a burst of energy that defies her air of sluggishness moments before. She disappears through the doorway in the direction of Zaofu’s many mini-kitchens.

 

Asami sits up into a cross-legged position as she waits, her blanket pooling in her lap. Korra returns shortly with a slender, steaming pot held between heat-impervious hands. She pours from it into one of the few clean cups left on the table, handing it to Asami with a careful, rather unnecessary “It’s very hot,” that still doesn’t fail to warm Asami’s heart.

 

Asami takes a cautious sip as Korra plops onto the couch with her own cup. The flavour takes her by surprise. “Oh, wow, it’s… smoky.”

 

Korra grins. “Yup! I hope you like it. This stuff is huge in the Water Tribe. ‘Cause it feels so warm, right? I was surprised to find it here but Su has, like… a whole teashop.”

 

“I like it.” Asami holds her cup close and inhales deep, watches Korra smile with something akin to tenderness at the gesture.

 

“You can get it much stronger than this,” Korra continues happily, “and it’s _perfect_ with fig cookies - I make ‘em good, by the way,” she proclaims, raising her brow.

 

“Do you? You should teach me,” Asami replies lightly. “I’m kind of a total failure in the kitchen.”

 

“I knew there had to be something wrong with you!” Korra delivers her quiet admiration so matter-of-factly that it catches Asami almost off-guard, as far as a compliment can. “I will, for real. You teach me to drive, I’ll teach you to bake. And cook, if you like.”

 

Of course, there are no cars to drive and little time to cook when they’re travelling a continent, but somehow the notion so ordinary, of Korra sharing her time and trust with her on matters so… everyday, kindles a warmth in Asami that’s almost exciting in its simplicity. She feels  _easy_ ; what a rare feeling.

 

“Deal,” she says, smiling. “It’s only fair you’re not the only one making a fool of herself.”

 

“Okay, Asami, lesson one: no _slandering_ the teacher.”

 

**Four**

 

Airship, again, en dismal route to the Northern Air Temple.

 

There’s a storm waiting on the horizon, waiting for dawn - and everyone is waiting underthe stifling air; a surge in atmospheric pressure with every hour that ticks them closer to the Red Lotus.

 

Asami sleeps a few scattered minutes, and the moment she gives up on rest altogether is the moment that Korra slides into her cabin without knocking, still in day clothes. She opens her eyes onto her, and wishes she could close them again for the dread.

 

“Asami, can I talk to you.” A request, not a question.

 

She sits up and offers her hands in one swift motion. “What is it?”

 

Korra walks forward and perches on the bed, sliding steady and warm fingers into hers. “I just… I can’t exactly be alone with my thoughts right now. And can’t sleep, obviously. I’m nervous.”

 

She sighs deep and the sounds settles straight and heavy in Asami’s own chest, instantaneous, centre of pressure. As Korra continues to stare back at her, disquieted and at once beautifully resolute, _I’m scared, too_ is the second thing that springs to Asami’s mind, the second thing she presses back into her throat, the second least helpful admission she realises she might make right now. She moves back on the bed and pats the space in front of her.

 

“We can talk. Come and sit here.”

 

Korra releases her hands but keeps her thoughts for several hours, as Asami tries intently not to give in to praying for another quiet morning with her.

 

**Five**

 

A night after the first night that Kya’s ministrations allow for Korra to have company for longer than an hour or two, she gets her wish. Asami wakes on Korra’s bed at Air Temple Island, over the covers with Korra under and awake, not sleeping (still not sleeping.)

 

Asami reaches for the book she had fallen asleep on. She fingers the groove in her cheek and then the corresponding crinkle in the page. “Shall I read some more?” The curl of a thumb in the ends of her hair signifies permission granted.

 

But they don’t speak that morning.

 

**Six, seven, eight? Ten?**

 

Korra sleeps and Asami wakes in fits and starts. There are good days, bad days, worse days.

 

Bad mornings. “ _Asami!_ I can’t _breathe_ -” Like ice seizing up her spine, a painful wrench from the oblivion of sleep straight to hyper-attention, skipping every pacifying step inbetween.

 

Some times the way empty consciousness blurs to sleep and back makes it hard to distinguish between them in the first place, and the only provable constant, point of clarity, is their togetherness in space; head or hands or hair touching.

 

“ _Asami._ Get up! Get the Pai Sho board back out. I’m beating your ass for real today.” Good mornings.

 

**Eleven**

 

It doesn’t take more than a second to gauge what kind of morning it is, because Korra takes her wrist as soon as her eyes open.

 

Asami groans, “Oh, it’s early,” as she shields her eyes from the morning sunshine with one hand and braces into a sitting position with the other.

 

“Kya says we’re leaving earlier than I thought,” Korra says, with a sad little smile. “Will you do my hair? Like I used to have it before.” _Before_ is a designation easily understood now.

 

Asami acquiesces and meanwhile Korra talks away, the best of signs, though her tone is subdued like always. And the best of signs wills Asami to try again: “The offer still stands, you know. I can come, too, if you like.”

 

When the head against her hand droops, she wishes she could retract her words. Then Korra states quite simply (and a little awkwardly, the way true candour tends to be), “I don’t want to keep you.”

 

So it’s a question of dignity, really. _Look at me claiming your time when I have nothing of service to give in return._ Which couldn’t be farther from the truth, of course, but Asami knows not to press the issue. Before she can deliver her understanding acceptance of Korra’s answer, Korra continues, all in a rush.

 

“But I appreciate it, Asami, I really, really do.” She turns in her chair as Asami lets go of the last tail of her hair, and her eyes are wider than Asami would have expected. “I appreciate _you._ ”

 

Asami’s acknowledgment is the offering of her arms, because that’s the language they've become used to (not) speaking in, and how strange, how _much_ , to hear her friend voice her feelings instead, no less voice the gratitude that Asami doubts she is even owed…

 

As soon as Korra hugs her, Asami comes to understand it as a goodbye hug, so she holds and lets Korra hold. “Seriously,” Korra is saying. “I love you. I love how kind you are always, even though you’re busy enough and smart enough to not have to be. Thank you.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me, and I love _you,_ ” says Asami into Korra’s shoulder, cuts these two thoughts loose long last from her throat like the wind floating over the bay outside. Really, that’s the gist of her feelings.

 

~~**Twelve** ~~

 

But two years is not enough to cut the thought of Korra loose, of course it’s not.

 

She wakes with the thought sometimes, and it wakes with her; and once, she thinks, she wakes with Korra.

 

Asami stirs when the sound of a comfy little sigh prods against the blanket of her consciousness. When she follows the sound with a reach of her hand towards her right, the warm weight of an arm materialises over hers; suddenly familiar, suddenly a person, a person in particular. The arm curls around to pull its attached body closer to Asami, until she has soft hair under her fingers, belonging to the warm head pressed in her shoulder. Sunlight colours her eyelids golden, mirroring the brilliant warmth somewhere deep inside of her. That means it’s way past dawn, so Asami supposes she should rise in spite of her pleasure. She opens her eyes.

 

Then she wakes, late for work, without Korra.

 

**Twelve**

 

Three years and the thought still has her, but she’s somewhat guarded now. So when Asami does awaken next to Korra for the first time in a lifetime, she spends a cautious minute… checking.

 

She watches from the corner of her eye dark limbs that radiate warmth tangled in one of her spare blankets. Breath rising and falling under a crinkled blue shirt; a face she can’t quite see but hair grazing a shoulder - _above_ the shoulder, and, oh, yeah, that’s definitely new so it can’t be in her head. After all, you can’t dream a face you haven’t seen - and, well, even if she has seen her, the hair makes her face a different face, right? -

 

“You okay?”

 

She turns her head to find Korra watching _her._ “Huh?”

 

“You were just being very still.”

 

“Yeah,” she says, exhaling a smile. “I’m fine, I just… Good morning.”

 

Korra laughs in reply, though Asami’s not sure what at. Then she sits up in that familiar, straight-to-attention motion. “It’s late, isn’t it?” She yawns with a glance at Asami’s table clock. _10.00 am._

 

“Yeah,” is Asami’s muted, monosyllabic reply, because now that she’s fully awake, fully secure in her senses, her heart is suddenly beating very hard at the sight of Korra (Korra!) sitting all casual in her bed.

 

“Have you been up long?” Korra says, lifting her hand Asami’s way in such a manner that Asami thinks for the briefest of moments that she’s going to slide it over her covered waist. But it remains hovering for a second, then curls in the narrow bed space between their bodies instead.

 

Asami wishes she could hold it. “No. It’s fine, we were up so late last night.”

 

So very late. _I’ll drive you to the ferry_ , Asami had said after they had been roped into dinner at the mansion with an adulatory Prince Wu and a hundred of Mako’s family, but halfway there she was fighting the urge to take the turn for her apartment instead, and two-thirds of the way Korra had stopped abruptly in her account of her time in Zaofu to say _you’re not working tomorrow, right, Asami?_ Which was, naturally, _can I stay with you tonight?_ And then through several rounds of tea they had set to sharing, set to unpacking together piece by careful piece the months upon months apart. Korra had done much of the recounting, which meant Asami’s heart had done much of the aching. But when she hugged her goodnight at the end of it, Asami had felt something click into place again: Korra had a way to go, and so be it, but she was here within the reach of all the relief Asami had to offer once again, so she would receive it for as long as Asami could give (forever, incidentally), and that was that.

 

Presently, Korra stretches and yawns again.

 

“You sleep okay?” Asami asks to distract herself from the sudden urge to pull her back down into bed. Intrusive thoughts.

 

Korra grins. “Never better. Well, not in a good while at least.” She glances around after a moment. “I like your bed. I’d forgotten how hard the beds at Air Temple Island were.”

 

Rather than saying something rash like _you’re welcome to stay here_ in response, Asami busies herself with climbing out of bed and getting dressed. Korra accepts her offer to use the bathroom first, so Asami unties her hair and begins to brush it through whilst she waits.

 

“You never wore your hair like that before,” Korra says upon returning, in reference to the ponytail Asami has just taken out.

 

Asami shrugs. “Yeah - it’s just better for work, you know…”

 

“No, I like it. It’s very, um, elegant. Very you,” Korra croaks in the direction of her hands, and it makes Asami smile, and wonder a little bit.

 

“Breakfast?” Asami says. “I usually just grab something and go, but it’d be nice to sit down with a real meal since you’re here.”

 

“I’d love that,” Korra says, one foot already out of the door towards the kitchen. “But let me make it for you.”

 

**Thirteen**

 

It’s something special, a turn of the tables, the first time Asami wakes from a nightmare next to Korra.

 

“Woah,” she hears, and feels Korra take her wrist and the small of her back at once and pull her quick and straight up like wheels skidding short; up in one motion out of sleep and out of her dread dream world. She’s held in that sitting position for a moment, whilst she claims her breath, once, twice, three times.

 

“Damn it,” she says, finds herself inexplicably on the verge of tears. “Sorry. Sorry, you need to sleep. It’s probably almost dawn.”

 

Korra wraps warm, firm arms around her and changes the subject. “Do you wanna get some air?”

 

Asami carries herself to the veranda and lets the cool night breeze waft over skin she wishes she could scratch the despair out of. The agitation of feeling inside of her is strange; grief-relief, a contrary combination that makes it hard to sleep. She’s safe, Korra’s safe, they’re all safe, technically speaking, and that’s more than she could have said mere hours ago. But the fresh anguish of her father’s death that she didn’t bear mere hours ago is one more thing that makes Asami believe she’s not supposed to make it out of things one hundred per cent; maybe she doesn’t deserve to.

 

Korra appears beside her a second later with a cup of water. After they both drink, she mirrors Asami’s position against the wood railing, pressing their hunched shoulders together. Warmth runs along the line of their touching arms like a golden thread and the breeze carries the scent of Korra about her.

 

It’s calming company.

 

At some point, she’s crying again. When she lifts her arm to brush the tears away, the movement alerts Korra, who looks at her for the first time in a while.

 

“Long day,” Asami murmurs, almost apologetically.

 

“Tell me about it,” Korra says, and puts her hand to Asami’s back, fingers light on the space between her shoulder blades. She lays her head on Asami’s shoulder, but before she settles there, there’s another first: Korra leans forward and presses a kiss against her cheek, warm and delicate. Then she falls back against her, eyes closed, heavy.

 

“Oh, Korra, you must be drained,” Asami sighs, her own head falling onto hers. “Go to sleep, okay? I don’t want to keep you.”

 

Korra gives a small shake of her head, still nestled into her, and responds with utmost certainty. “I want you to keep me.”

 

The words camp out in Asami’s head for the next two weeks.

 

**Fourteen**

 

They had held hands and arms and waists all day yesterday, and then talked the night away in their cozy, makeshift bed (something of a pattern by this point.)

 

The fourteenth time that Asami awakens with Korra it feels fresher, freer than each time before, like she’s teetering on the edge of something new; something pleasant that’s waiting for her to fall headlong into it, but not pressing her in the least. It’s fitting for her very first time in the Spirit World.

 

Asami’s hands are all to herself when she wakes up, but Korra’s sitting cross-legged right next to her, left knee nudging her blanketed legs.

 

She feels heat and light before she opens her eyes, and smiles as she shields her face. “It’s so _warm._ ”

 

“Rise and shine,” says Korra happily. “I told you we wouldn’t need a tent!”

 

Asami stretches with a rather carefree groan. “I guess not. Well, good morning! Is it morning here?” She asks, turning onto her side as she looks up at the bright sky, evenly illuminated across its whole expanse. “I don’t see any sun.”

 

Korra shrugs and they both giggle. Asami considers her properly, takes in her bare feet, the pale blue shirt she’s changed into and the way her skin glows warm under the pseudo-sunlight, flecked here and there with the wispy blush blossoms of the tree they’ve camped by. “You look well-rested,” she says, reaching up to brush a few off her arm with the pads of her fingers. “What are you up to?”

 

“Tea. I brought your favourite.” Korra gestures in front of her to a small steaming pot and a pair of cups.  When Asami turns her attention to them, she sees a tiny pair of eyes flash out from the second cup as Korra pours into the first.

 

 _Spirit?_ she mouths at Korra, who nods and taps the cup lightly. “Come out,” Korra calls gently. “Tea’s going in here…”

 

Immediately and somehow still tentatively, the creature hops out of the cup and behind Korra’s hand, peering up at her with a pleading little frown. “Sorry, Avatar Korra.” Asami watches curiously; she’s never seen a spirit so small, or so quietly deferential to Korra. Its eyes dart back to Asami for a second before it hides again behind Korra’s hand.

 

Korra laughs. “Hey, it’s okay. This is my friend, Asami.”

 

The spirit peeks out again, at Asami, then Korra, and back again. Korra retracts her hand slowly. It moves a teensy step forward, regarding Asami with a kind of wary curiosity.

 

“She’s very, very nice,” Korra encourages, and Asami opens her palm flat in front of her. “She won’t hurt you.” The spirit springs into Asami’s palm, not taking its blackbean eyes off her.

 

“Hi,” Asami says as Korra watches the creature watch Asami. The spirit repeats it back, barely audible, and then says a little louder, “I like your hair.”

 

They both laugh at that, and Asami lifts a lock of her hair into the creature’s tiny arms.

 

“Would you like to join us for breakfast?” Korra says sweetly. The soft, careful tone of her voice makes Asami’s heart flutter, even though her words aren’t directed at her.

 

The spirit nods shyly and climbs onto Asami’s shoulder. Asami sits up at last and Korra places a cup of tea in her hands, and then Asami watches her pick a up a piece of a strange silvery fruit from a plate on her other side that she hadn’t noticed before.

 

“What’s that?” She says.

 

Korra tilts her head in the direction they had come over the previous day. “It grows over by that lake. We can eat it! The spirits call it moon melon. Try some -” And she lifts the piece to Asami’s mouth. The flavour’s syrupy and a little of it drips down her chin - Korra catches it with her fingers; it feels like a caress.

 

Asami watches her lick them clean, nonchalant, captivating, and decides she’s going to kiss her today, if it’s all right.

 

**Hundred and forty**

 

She opens her eyes suddenly, immediately cognizant of the fact that the shift in the weight of this unfamiliar hotel mattress has woken her. Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the hint of light and her body to the clean cold of early, early morning.

 

“Oops,” whispers Korra, who’s reaching across over Asami to her bedside table. “Just wanted to check the time.”

 

Asami relaxes and pulls the cover over head. Korra lays back down with a soft “Sorry, Asami,” and pats the back of her head. “It’s three-thirty by the way. Hours more to sleep. But sorry for waking you.”

 

In response, Asami switches sides to face her and pulls her closer; _it’s_ _okay_ , _honey_ , _I_ _don’t_   _mind_. She blinks blearily a few times as Korra burrows closer. The mellow blue of dawn-in-an-hour reflects softly on Korra's skin, casts it just visible. Just inviting. Asami cups and strokes her shoulder, then kisses it where it meets her neck, then her neck, and then one more time against the cold. It warms her considerably so she does it again, once in each spot.

 

“Okay, I get it," she hears Korra mumble laughingly, “you accept my apology.”

 

“Yes,” murmurs Asami, smiling through another kiss as she rubs her free hand across Korra's back, and then smiling wider at the welcome difficulty of having to talk and smile and kiss at the same time. “But since we're both awake now and you _did_ wake me, I think it's only fair for you to kiss me back...”

 

Asami hasn’t kept count, but a hundred and forty is as pleasant and precious as fourteen (and so is almost every number between.)

 

**∞**

 

Her favourites are the ones where they awaken together and don’t have to separate for the next few minutes or hours, but the truth is that every morning is singular, even if for just a moment, because every morning brings its moment of cognizance:  _oh, here’s Korra._ The feeling sticks, no matter where she wakes up or who makes the tea or how few her minutes to get dressed and dash are, and long after she’s learnt exactly how to cuddle up for optimum temperature and perfected the art of morning kisses that don’t smear lipstick, until there’s more salt than pepper in her hair and long after still, the feeling sticks.

 

 


End file.
